


Ghosts of the Colosseum

by lifeaftermeteor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Canon, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: During a mission, the paladins happen on a relic of times past. It offers some elusive closure for their leader.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 30
Collections: Intrusive Sheith Thoughts





	Ghosts of the Colosseum

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ficlet that started out as a Twitter thread [over here](https://twitter.com/cosmicdustvld/status/1180170422316404741)

“This is where they brought you,” Keith said quietly, turning to face his partner. “The arena is here.”

They studied each other for a time in silence. Shiro’s heart hammered in his chest as understanding dawned and his mouth went dry. “Show me.”

“Are you sure…” Keith began, but stopped himself before he could say more. He knew better than to ask, knew Shiro better than to ask. Instead, Keith turned and led him away from the group, down winding pathways and darkened corridors.

The passages that unfold before them at every turn are lined with cells, cages, what used to be a pitiful armory. Empty and silent now. As Keith and Shiro walked beside one another past the remnants of times past, it became clear they were being herded, funneled, in one direction - up and out. 

When they reached the ramp, its exit a gaping maw ahead of them, Shiro paused. There was no muffled rumbling of the legions above, no scent of fear from the cells behind. It was deathly silent. Like the grave. 

It was in this silence that Keith reached out and took his wrist in-hand. ”You don’t have to do this,” he assured, running his thumb along Shiro’s pulse. 

“Yes I do,” Shiro countered, though it has grown ever more difficult to breathe through the vise clamped tight around his ribs. “I need to know the stands are empty. That no one will die here to the roar of the crowd.”

Keith released him with a nod and hung back a step before following Shiro up the ramp into the arena. 

Gravel crunching under his boots, Shiro strode forward out to the center of the pit where he paused before a vacant dias. The stands were empty and dilapidated. No more witnesses to the slaughter, no more laughter from the Galra warlords and their elite. No one else had to die there. 

How many had to, over the eons? Shiro didn’t know, perhaps he didn’t want to know.

But standing there in the ever-present silence, a memory came to Shiro. Curled in the corner of a cell, shaking with fear and adrenaline, he had sworn to himself he would not die to the sound of their cheers. And he did not. He _will_ not. 

The memory was bitter on his tongue. Shiro reached back behind him and Keith was there, his hand warm and solid and clasped in Shiro’s left hand. He took a deep breath then and when he exhaled, Shiro knew he was free.


End file.
